


1836

by paraduxks



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Family, Friendship, Gen, Gender Identity, Gender Roles, Historical Hetalia, Motherhood, Religion, Toxic Mindsets, assorted children - Freeform, chiara's lowkey an alcoholic, feminism ?, listen guys they just Work together, millwork, pls convert to my new favorite rarepair, siblings who love each other and also hate each other, they're gonna grow together guys, unhealthy mental shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraduxks/pseuds/paraduxks
Summary: Most of the mill girls at the Lowell mill had accepted the fact that their lives would be difficult. Tatjana Laurinaitis was no exception, until one day in the September of 1836. After that, nothing could ever be the same.-------------aka a historical nyotalia romano x lithuania fic set during the beginning of the american labor movement, with a side order of homoeroticism
Relationships: America & Lithuania (Hetalia), Female Lithuania & Female South Italy, Female Lithuania/Female South Italy (Hetalia), Lithuania & South Italy (Hetalia), Lithuania/South Italy (Hetalia), North Italy & South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 13





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> howdy yall!! welcome to my latest brain creation. once again it's lowkey a songfic, inspired by the song Millwork from the musical Working. the musical sucks, imo, but Millwork is good. dont ask how my brain made the jump from that song to this, but it sure did. anyway, im having a real blast writing and editing this so far, so here ya go! 
> 
> lithuania = tatjana (i wanted to name her tijana but it's not the right language family >:(  
> romana = chiara  
> america = amelia  
> lativa = rebeka (named after latvian weightlifter rebeka koha)  
> italy = felicia  
> poland = patricya

It wasn't her job to sweep the weaving room, yet Tatjana often found herself doing so after a shift. She told herself it was so she could check in with Rebeka after work, but if she was being honest, she didn't fully mind the sweeping. And if she stopped, who else would do it? More important, who would look after Rebeka? The owners of the mill despised the sort of small, human mistakes everyone made from time to time. 

Tatjana counted each loom she passed while she swept, to break up the monotony. To claim it did was like claiming a whiff of coffee could wake you up in the morning. The blisters emergent from where the broom rubbed against her hands did a better job at curing boredom than counting ever could. Nostalgia rang through her for the times when she had calloused palms. In her youth, her father often said she had a man’s hands. She supposed that had some merit- Her hands were strong, rough, and her arms were indistinguishable from a boy's. But all that was in the past! Her muscles were only useful when she needed to clean, atrophied into a more appropriate shape. It was fine, though. What need did a young woman such as herself have for being strong, save attracting a man? 

The thought of a husband reminded Tatjana that her days here were numbered. Once her twenty-fifth birthday struck , she’d be overstaying her welcome. Though she couldn't fathom the idea of growing old as a mill girl, she hadn't the foggiest where else she’d go. Eduard already teased her about her lack of romantic fortune. If the idea of marriage weren't so abhorrent, perhaps she’d already be gone. But then who would take care of Rebeka and make sure Eduard got enough food? Like the sweeping, it wasn't her job, but wasn't terrible, and there was no one to take up the job in her place. 

Speaking of Rebeka, her loom was coming up on the right. Perhaps Tatjana could say hello. Yes, that would be lovely. Rebeka’s was the fourth from the end of the line, and Tatjana wasn't quite there yet, so she had time to plan her greeting. A poke to her waist might seem indecent, and a tap on the shoulder could seem too authoritative, but a pat on the head might do. Or not- Rebeka despised when anyone touched her hair. Oh, but by her count, she was there already- Ah, well. 

Tatjana reached out with one hand, digging a finger into Rebeka’s waist, and uttered a soft, 

“Morning, Beka.” 

“Who the hell is Beka?” Tatjana looked up, mind blank. In Rebeka's place stood an unfamiliar woman, fixing Tatjana with a dark-eyed, milk curdling glare. Tatjana flinched, drawing the broom closer to her body. 

“I- um!” She stammered, with a step backwards. Though the other woman only came up to her chin, her sour look was intimidating enough to make her seem taller. “I'm so sorry to bother you, miss! I didn't mean to-”

“Whatever,” The woman deflated. “My name’s Chiara, and don't you forget it, alright?” 

“Uh- Yeah!” Tatjana agreed, heart racing. She needed to explain herself- She was just sweeping, she didn't mean to bother anyone, and- 

“Hey guys! I didn't know you two knew each other!” A familiar voice attracted their attention, and both women followed the sound with their eyes. At the end of the row of looms stood another millworker, and the only one enthusiastic about her station. A young woman by the name of Amelia E. Jones, and yes, you had to say the E. every time you said her full name. It was a rule. And now she charged over, at a pace faster than was allowed inside the mill. She threw an arm around both Tatjana and Chiara, and though she was rough in everything she did, her presence managed to be comforting. 

“If it isn't my two favorite people!” Chiara rolled her eyes and threw Amelia’s arm off her shoulder. 

“We've only just met,” She said to no one in particular. Her eyes were downcast, but not quite focused on anything. 

“Oh, nonsense!” Amelia crowed, tightening her hold on Tatjana’s shoulders. “When I met you this morning, I knew you’d be something special! And now you’ve met Tati. That’s awesome! Tati, this is Chiara Vargas, and uh. Chiara Vargas, this is Tati.” Silence overtook them, as Tatjana and Chiara glanced up at each other, then, not wanting to prolong their eye contact, glanced away. 

“…Are y'all gonna shake hands?” Amelia asked, and Tatjana thrust a hand out, her arm shaky, with her eyes focused somewhere around Chiara’s left shoulder. 

“Hello, Tati,” Chiara mumbled, and grasped her hand tightly. 

“It’s- It’s Tatjana,” Tatjana corrected, squeezing Chiara’s hand to match the firmness of the handshake. 

“Anyway! Now that you two have met, we can start with your training, Chiara! Chiara’s new. She’s got a twin who’s gonna work nights, but-”

“We’re not twins,” Chiara interrupted, and rubbed at her eyes with one hand. 

“She’s got a twin who works nights, but the other girl- What’s her name, Chiara?”

“Felicia.” Chiara looked pained by how fast Amelia was talking, and how loud. Tatjana couldn't help but give her a soft smile. Millwork was no easy task, and Amelia, friendly though she was, could sometimes make it even harder. 

“Right, Felicia. They look the same, but Chiara’s a bit grr, you know?” Tatjana nodded, but Amelia was back to talking again before she’d finished. “Anyway, it shouldn’t be too much trouble if you remember Chiara morning, Felicia night! So glad you two could meet each other! As for now, I'm training her, so…run along, I guess.” Tatjana rolled her eyes, but didn't need to be told twice. 

“Alright. Have a nice morning,” She said gently, “And put your hair up, Amelia.” With a light tap on Amelia’s shoulder, Tatjana exited the situation. 

“Thanks, Tati!” Amelia shouted, and when Tatjana returned to sweeping, she could see Amelia yanking up her mousy brown locks into a ponytail . That girl would be the death of her- If Rebeka didn't beat her to it, of course. 

She finished sweeping without much ado, and tucked the broom away before punching out. By the time she left the weaving room, it was seven in the morning. Early sun made the grass shine with dew. Tatjana took a moment to stretch, lifting her arms above her head. All the pressure from a night of leaning over her machine released, and a satisfied groan slipped out at the feeling. She rolled her neck from side to side, and once she finished stretching, she breathed in the cold air. It was the time of year when mornings were frigid but midday was warm as ever, and the mornings tasted like home. The shift change was finished, so Tatjana indulged herself, closing her eyes and swaying. The air was thick today, and it would be humid later on, but for now, she was content to this moment outside. 

The knowledge that she’d have to get home and do yet more work soiled her peace. Wake Eduard, figure out where Rebeka was, handle the chores, prepare the night’s meal, and return to work at six, and find time to rest. Tatjana disliked the notion that life was best lived in half-days, but if she weren't meant for this life, she wouldn't be living it. 

Tatjana opened her eyes. The good things in life had to be fleeting, as a reminder that one needed to work for them. If her eyes didn't ache when she opened them, what reverence could she have for sleep? It was the way of the textile mills, anyway, and therefore her way of life. As she began to step across the grass, she couldn't help but remember her old life. Farming wasn’t terribly unlike millwork, in terms of schedule, but her life at home may as well have been on another planet. She woke with the sun, usually not particularly tired, and carried out her chores until her father permitted her to run along. Endless days were spent with one of her best friends, Patricya, by her side. Patricya was terrible at friendship, but breaking away from her would be worse than staying in their doomed relationship. 

When she returned to her dorm, Rebeka was, thankfully, resting in their shared bed. Eduard was absent, though he often was, searching for work or visiting Boston. Various farmers had hired him since their stay in America began, though they always fired him before a month was up. Though it was rude, Tatjana believed it was due to his utter lack of physical prowess. Perhaps they would fare better if she were the farmhand and he were the mill boy. But this mill didn't allow men to live and work as it did women, so there was nothing she could do about that. 

“Morning, Rebeka,” Tatjana called, and removed her shoes. The floor was icy through her stockings, but that was to be expected of the season. 

“Tatja,” Rebeka mumbled, lifting her head from the pillow, “It’s so early.” 

“It is, yes,” Tatjana agreed. She lifted the corner of her mouth, though she doubted Rebeka was actually looking at her. “Remember how we used to be up with the sun? In the old days?”

“The old days are overrated,” Rebeka grumbled, and rolled onto her back, limbs spread out like a star. “I’d like to live in a world where I can sleep all day.” Tatjana chuckled, for she had to agree. Instead, she tugged at the strings of her bonnet until it came dislodged from her head, and let her curled-up braid fall against her back. Her shawl was next, followed by her apron and, after a moment’s thought, her corset . Tatjana returned to their bed, and sat down beside Rebeka. 

“Me too,” She said, “But we don't live there right now.” Rebeka groaned, and threw an arm across her eyes.

“We could if the light wasn't so damn bright.”

“Would you like me to draw the curtains?” Tatjana asked, and placed a hand on Rebeka’s arm. The girl nodded, and so Tatjana obliged her. When she sat down again in the darkness, her exhaustion became all the more intense. Perhaps her duties could wait a few hours...No boss nor clock watched her here. A smile crossed her face, and she stood one final time to remove her petticoats before collapsing. Rebeka did sometimes have her priorities in order. Though the bed was hard, it might as well have been gossamer beneath her. Millwork put a tiredness in your bones that stuck with you even when you slept, which in turn made all beds feel luxurious. 

Tatjana rolled to the side, tucking her body up against Rebeka’s. The girl was warm to the touch, almost feverish, and the perfect temperature for sleeping. When she closed her heavy lids, Tatjana almost forgot to worry about Rebeka’s possible fever. Sleep demanded she stop thinking and dragged her in, curling through her body. She buried her face in Rebeka’s shoulder, only for Rebeka to let out a soft whine and turn away. 

“Your face sucks,” She whined, and Tatjana smiled against linen. “I mean, your face is…your face is cold.” 

“I’m sorry, dear,” Tatjana murmured, and shifted her head so no skin touched between them. Without having anything else to say, Rebeka grunted. Moments later, the sound of her breathing filled the room, and she was asleep. Tatjana wasn't far behind, and by the time the morning workers were settled in, the two young women were fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, pls let me know what you thought! or just yell with me about romaliet, because boys, I Think We're Onto Something Here. 
> 
> my tumblr: urmomsstuntdouble.tumblr.com
> 
> some notes:
> 
> 1\. Tatjana mentions her 25th birthday being a time when she's overstaying her welcome. This is because millworking was considered a young woman's job, and the typical millworker was between age 18-25. It was sort of a stepping stone between youth and being married, although most of the money made from the millwork would go to a woman's husband once she got married. 
> 
> 2\. America's hair is bleached. fight me
> 
> EDIT: I feel like this note implies that there was no such thing as bleaching your hair in the 1830s. This is false. Hair bleaching has been a thing since ancient Greece, and it was also in style during the 1810s and 20s. Within the anglosphere, lye in particular was used as a bleaching agent. However, this was generally reserved for the upper echelons of society, which Amelia is definitely not a part of in this fic, hence the brown hair :)
> 
> 3\. It's mentioned that men aren't allowed to stay in the dorms. This is true, as most textile mills would have their female workers live in dorms on site, so they didn't want them to mix with men. However, given that the Baltics are like. vaguely familial in this, I've made Tatja and Beka's dorm their base of operations. Tatjana and Rebeka live there full time, but Eduard only sleeps there sometimes, as he's very busy not farming well and trying to become a sleazy businessman. Though men did work on textile mills, it was far more common in the South (but in the South the textile mills were sort of part of cotton plantations) and you kinda had to be a Big Strong Man. Since Estonia is kinda a tech nerd in canon, i didn't figure it would make much sense to have him be a Big Strong Man. 
> 
> 4\. Tatjana is wearing a corset throughout this, although I was debating whether or not to have her be wearing stays instead. The natural waistline was in style during the 1830s, that was also the decade in which corsets came into fashion. Early corsets were functionally very similar to stays and people didnt start lacing them so tight they couldnt breathe until about 10-20 years after this is set. So corsets wouldn't be out of the picture for the Tatjana to be wearing, although it would make her a bit abnormally fashionable for her economic class. It's also not practical for every female character to be wearing a corset, and i don't imagine Chiara would be wearing one (both because of her personality and other reasons), but Amelia probably is just cause she's Like That. 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, and welcome back to..whatever this is! Sorry for the long gap between updates. Not only is shit hitting the fan in real life, but for whatever fuckin reason, writing the end notes took me three days...it truly is a labor of love lol. Anyway, I already said this last time, but I want to recommend that you listen to the song Millwork from the musical Working, performed by Siubahn Harrison, as it is one of the songs from which I drew inspiration for this fic. That's all I have to say for now, so thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

That evening, they were able to watch the sunset on the way to work. Thrice, Rebeka looked right at the sun, and each time, Tatjana told her, “If you look directly at the sun, you’ll go blind.” Rebeka ignored her each time, and Tatjana supposed that was fair. Bloody orange streaking across lilac was quite beautiful. Upon reaching the mill, Rebeka paused in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. 

“Do you ever wish we could watch the entire sunset?” She asked, to which Tatjana tilted her head in confusion. 

“We can, Rebeka. On Saturdays.” 

“You can,” Rebeka said, “You sleep in on Sundays.” Tatjana chuckled, but glanced inside to see how many girls on the night shift were there. Lateness could knock a whole dollar off the week’s pay, if one was late enough. Fortunately, though, she could still see Amelia, talking over her loom, indicating that the shift change was not yet complete. 

“Yes, dear,” She said, “Though I envy your ability to practice as you please-” 

“Excuse me!” A soft voice said from behind her, “May I go inside?” Tatjana stepped aside and gestured towards the door, only to squint in confusion at the woman before her. She was short, about chin height on Tatjana, and bore an incredible resemblance to that new girl, Chiara Vargas. Must’ve been her twin- No, they weren’t twins, that was wrong- Alicia? 

“Do you have a sister?” She asked, before she could stop herself. The woman laughed, soft and merry, not unlike a bell. 

“I do,” She said, “She should be inside now.” Chiara’s sister stuck her hand out, revealing wool gloves. 

“My name is Felicia,” She said. Tatjana took her hand, a bit mesmerized by the sound of her voice. Only when Felicia’s grip tightened did Tatjana realize she had forgotten to introduce herself. 

“T-Tatjana,” She said, “And this is my friend, Rebeka.” 

“Hello,” Rebeka said, giving a small wave. 

“Hi, Rebeka! My name’s Felicia.” She offered her other hand. 

“You said,” Rebeka said dryly, crossing her arms. Felicia pouted, which made her cheeks look very full, and dropped her hands. 

“Sorry. But I suppose we should head in to work now, yes?” Tatjana nodded, and gestured once again to the door. 

“After you.” 

Felicia slapped a hand to a puffed-out chest, a wide smile on her face. 

“Thank you, madam!” She leaned forward, as if she were about to sprint, before stepping inside. It was an odd gait- it seemed Felicia could tip over at any moment- but it suited her. Based on their brief interaction, anyway. 

Tatjana and Rebeka entered after her, punched into work, and were on their ways. The woman who used Tatjana’s loom during the day marked off her cotton2, and turned the machine over. Tatjana murmured a quick thanks, wished her well, and picked up the chalk. She hunched over the fabric, and drew the letters TL at the space where her weaving would begin. Unlike most women, Tatjana initialed her cotton in rapid strokes, as though she were already late. A more common practice was to take one’s time, but she’d never understood that. Why would she want to pretend work hadn't started yet while standing in the weaving room? 

Tatjana took a glance over at the clock before she began her work. In her early days of working at the Lowell mill, Tatjana had to pay attention while she worked the loom. Not anymore. Production was automatic by now. Her hands knew how to move and her arms knew how much pressure to apply. For a while, she could let her mind wander. After about two hours passed, she became aware of the way her tongue laid in her mouth when she wasn't speaking. The tip rested behind her bottom teeth, and if she moved her tongue up and down, she could feel the distinction between her teeth and gums. Acute awareness of her tongue was a smidge uncomfortable, though she wasn't sure how to forget. 

The emergent solution was to stamp extra hard on the foot pedals and weave like her life depended on it. Like there was a gun to her head. She pressed on, discomforted by her tongue. Whenever she shifted, her hips banged against the front of the machine. It was meant to collide with her waist, hitting softer fat rather than bone, but the looms were not designed with her height in mind. Bruises imbued along her hips. It was mostly annoying, but allowed her the childish fantasy that she was someone’s lover. 

Weaving was a timeless activity, as any one of the mill girls could say, especially when night fell. After the sun went down and the lanterns went on, there was no saying how late or early it was. Only weaving. Tatjana was alone with her machine, just like the other hundred or so girls in her weaving room. They were blind, measuring time with cotton output. About four hours after the night shift started, a slight sting ripped across Tatjana’s left thumb. She glanced down, only to find that her skin was broken. Her thumb had come between two gears, as she threw a lever. Sigh. Tatjana turned her machine to idle, and examined her thumb. It didn't appear bad- The sort of thing that would heal in a day or two. With her other hand, she removed her shawl and wrapped the end around her thumb. She squeezed, shut her eyes, and hoped that would be enough to quell the bleeding. 

Small breaks like that were nice, but they couldn't last forever. Tatjana returned to work before much time had passed, though she trapped her thumb against her fingers. It wasn't unreasonable for her to work without a left thumb- right? Besides, there would be trouble if she got blood on her cotton. 

Tatjana continued weaving. She glanced around the room, taking in the faces of those around her. She didn't know half their names, not even the children. Most of the girls were near her age, but some were young as ten. Their bonnets were barely visible above their machines, only notable by a spot of white hovering above the frame. How dreadful. Not all that long ago, Rebeka was one of those floating spots of white. She was still quite small, but at least one could see her over the top of the loom. 

From time to time, Tatjana wondered if it was wrong for her to be deathly bored each night. No one else seemed bored. Rebeka had a melancholy anger about her, and Amelia managed excitement- Should Tatjana have felt something as she worked? Well, she supposed she did- Tonight, she wanted to ride a horse. It had been so long since she’d done so, and the years were unkind. She missed the sport dearly. Missed horses dearly. One of her closest friends, Patricya, owned several horses in the Old World. The pair could spend entire days spilling across the lowlands, back at home. Tatjana often wore britches, as it made jockeying easier, but Patricya managed with dresses. What an incredible and insufferable woman. But yes, what wouldn't she give for icy wind in her face and a growing ache in her thighs…Things she could never have again. 

Tatjana continued weaving. 

And she didn't need to ride horses. Sure, it was fun, but she was a woman now. She had responsibilities, like work, Rebeka and Eduard, and making sure Amelia put her hair up before work. Maybe one day she would ride a horse to Boston and pay Eduard a visit once he got rich…Oh, but the heat was getting to her. By then she’d have children to take care of. If her husband allowed it, then, she would visit Eduard on horseback. 

Work continued on. 

The first sign of dawn came in the form of a joyous cry from the other side of the room. Out of habit, she glanced over her shoulder, and yes, the sky was a bit paler than it was a moment ago. Finally. Though more work awaited her at home, in the broom cupboard, the end of her shift was a dream come true. Her knees, knuckles, and wrists were cramping. Only a few more hours. But until the clock struck six, she continued weaving. 

Sunlight filtered into the air far above. Past the roof and past the river, the sun was up, but all the mill girls saw was how the light turned downy. What a relief, Tatjana thought, and shifted on her feet. Not long before she could sit again. Weaving continued, however, until the overseer6 cried out for them to stop. Upon his cry, Tatjana turned her machine off and pulled out the charcoal from underneath. She reached over the machine to flatten the newest fabric. Holding it down with one hand, she scratched her initials down, then stood back. Her arms looped around her waist, her spine curved into a C, and she breathed. The air stunk of oil and the sweat of a hundred women, but it was air all the same.

Tatjana wasn't alone in her pause to breathe- Many others were switching off their machines, yawning, and stretching. The din was too loud for any yawns to be head, though Tatjana could tell they were yawning all the same. She’d made that same tired face her fair share of times. In fact, she was probably making it now, as she allowed her eyes to unfocus and slide around like they were loose in her skull. 

Now an air of passivity was dawned, as she waited for the night workers to file out so that her sweeping could commence. Today she was able to see Rebeka leave, giving her a slight wave when she did. Rebeka smiled and nodded in return. That was that, then. Tatjana supposed she could say hello to Chiara when she passed Rebeka’s usual loom today. Yes, that would be lovely. It was something to keep in her head, anyway, as she swept the room. From time to time, the oil and grime soaked into the floor annoyed her, as she couldn't tell what spots needed swept. 

She glanced up every now and then, verifying that her counting of looms was correct. The morning girls were setting up, and some had started their machines already. While she swept, Tatjana couldn't help noticing how many of the daytime girls were children. Or looked like children. By virtue of her height, many adult women appeared to her as younger than their true age. And adult men, she supposed, though it was easier to tell with men, on account of their facial hair. And, oh, she was distracted- She needed to sweep, count the looms, decide upon greeting Chiara or not. 

Someone entered her field of view, and before she could stop herself, her broom smacked against a woman’s feet. 

“My apologies-” 

“It’s okay!” Tatjana looked upon recognizing that voice. So it was only Amelia. And that was Chiara behind her, in the act of bending over, as though concealing something with her body. “Oh! Tati! Good morning.” Chiara looked up, and nodded in Tatjana’s general direction, before hunching away again. 

“Good morning, Amelia,” Tatjana said, "And good morning to you as well, Chiara." Chiara choked, fluid flying from her mouth. Coughing, she covered her reddening face with one hand. 

"You good?" Amelia asked, a chuckle hiding behind her words. Chiara nodded, and wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. She swallowed, let out a cough and nodded again.

"P-Peachy," She rasped, though she didn't sound it. Amelia's chuckle broke free. Her laughter was the infectious sort, and as such, Tatjana found herself suppressing a giggle of her own. "Stop laughing at me!" Chiara said, and turned away again, bunching her hands in her skirt. Tatjana couldn't be sure, though it appeared as if she was rifling through her pockets. Somewhere else, a door slammed open, followed by loud footsteps. 

"It's all in good fun," Amelia grinned, one hand resting on her stomach, "After all, how often is that a response to a greeting?" Chiara rolled her eyes.

"Okay, well, sorry I was rude or whatever. But maybe Tatjana shouldn't sneak up on people. Ever think of that?" When she turned to glare at Tatjana, her eyes were like shards of glass. Though the room was devilishly hot, Tatjana felt cold under her gaze. 

"S-Sorry-" She mumbled, hands tightening around the broom, and was met with a shrug. Before any of them could take another breath, a hand landed on Tatjana's waist. A shock ran up her spine and she shrieked, jerking her body to the left. The overseer was slipping past her. Did he touch her? The gap between rows of looms was wide enough for two to fit- Though she and Amelia were taking up most of the space- 

"Excuse me, dear." It was the overseer's voice, too close for comfort, as he passed her by. He stopped, close enough that Tatjana could still see the glint in his eye. How unlucky of her, to fall under his gaze so soon after coming to the mill. As a British Calvinist with a distaste for lethargy, he was well versed in the art of intimidating scowls. 

Amelia ducked her head, and wound one hand in Tatjana's skirt. She was often on the receiving end of such scowls- Which were typically followed by shouting and a reduction in pay. Tatjana shuffled closer to her, closing the gap between them. She wondered why Amelia was still afraid. As well versed as the overseer was in scowling, Amelia was in being scowled at. Logic said that she should know how to deal with his rage by now. Then again, logic had nothing to do with fear. 

The overseer faced Chiara. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, gesturing at the three women. She wrinkled her nose in confusion- How could he not know Amelia’s name? She’d been in more than her fair share of trouble. A glance to her left said Amelia wondered the same thing. 

“Not you,” He grumbled, “You. I’ve not seen you before.” 

“Oh, me?” Chiara asked. She leaned against her loom, resting, with one hand in her pocket. How odd. “I’m Chiara.” 

“Chiara what?” 

“Vargas.” 

“Chiara Vargas. I will say that’s a new name. Italian, is it?” Before Chiara could confirm, the overseer stepped past Amelia and into her space. 

“Y-Yeah,” Chiara said, met with silence. “I mean, yeah. What’s it to you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing to me. I do wonder though, Chiara, why you were drinking just now.” Tatjana tilted her head backwards, looking past Amelia. Chiara’s cheeks flamed and her eyes were wide, mouth shut tight. 

“It’s only water,” She said, though her tone indicated that it was absolutely not only water. 

“Might I have some then? I am a bit thirsty.” Chiara shook her head furiously. 

“No,” She said, “I finished it, but you’d know that if you actually had observational skills.” The overseer rolled his eyes. He only held out a hand, and when Chiara refused to deposit anything into it, he stamped a foot. She winced, and if it was possible, her face became redder. 

“Miss.” With a scoff, Chiara jerked her hand out of her pocket, and deposited a flask into his hand. Though some women had begun work, it was quiet enough to hear the liquid sloshing inside. “Thank you, Miss. Your pay will be deducted by forty cents.” 

“Forty?!” 

“Get back to work,” The overseer said, and marched back to his office, as though nothing had happened. Once his door closed again, the hum of the mill at work resumed, though Tatjana remained frozen. She set her eyes on the overseer’s window- Dirty, just like the rest of the mill. 

“Forty fucking cents,” Chiara said, and barked a harsh laugh, bringing Tatjana back to her body. “What the fuck!” 

“I’m sorry, man,” Amelia said. She released Tatjana’s skirt, in favor of laying a hand on Chiara’s shoulder. 

“I’m gonna die,” Chiara said, and covered her mouth with both hand. 

“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” Amelia said, “I’ve taken pay cuts like that before, and look at me now!” 

“You’re still stuck working here, aren't you?” Chiara bit out. Amelia’s face fell, and Chiara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry. Just- Let’s get to work?” 

“Right, yeah. Yeah, we should do that. Bye, Tati,” Amelia said, and gave her a slight wave. 

“Good day, then. And it’s Tatjana,” Tatjana said. She shuffled past the other women, holding her broom close to her chest. And maybe she imagined it, but she swore she heard Chiara wish her a good day. 

She did not count the rest of the looms as she finished sweeping- It was well past six by now, and her dorm awaited. Her home, her place of rest, and a chance to remove her corset. Tatjana rushed the sweeping, laid the broom carelessly in its closet, and punched out of work. Today there was no pause on the lawn. She sped home, and as soon as she was in the door, doffed her clothing down to the first petticoat. 

“Good morning, Beka,” She mumbled as she undid the ribbons around her stockings. 

“Morning,” Rebeka groaned from their bed. 

“Yes, morning,” Tatjana repeated herself. “It’s Tuesday, right?” Rebeka grunted in agreement. 

“Lovely,” Tatjana said, then paused. “Have you ever been drunk at work?” Rebeka pushed herself into a sitting position, then dragged a snarl of hair out of her face. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Well. Do you remember that woman we spoke with this morning? Felicia?” Rebeka nodded. “That British overseer just deduced her pay for drinking.” 

“Damn,” Rebeka said, “I should be more careful.”

“He docked her pay. Forty cents.” 

“Forty?!” 

“She had the same reaction.” 

“That’d be any sensible woman’s reaction,” Rebeka pointed out, “At that rate, I’d never escape.”

“Not ‘til one of the millboys thinks you’re pretty,” Tatjana said, but Rebeka only scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, because we all dream of running off with millboys.” Tatjana narrowed her eyes, confused. It sounded like a joke, but wasn't that their fate? Find a millboy, then move away to Boston? Or rather, find a way to Boston and then find a man? “Wait, do you seriously dream of a millboy?” Rebeka asked, incredulous. She rose to her knees. 

“No-”

“Tatja likes one of the millboys!” Rebeka laughed, pointing. Tatjana lifted a hand to cover her face, though she smiled anyhow. 

“I don’t!” She insisted. 

“Tatjana has a crush,” Rebeka sang, and leapt from the bed. She grabbed Tatjana’s hands, squeezing. Tatjana let her, allowed herself to be swung around and pushed toward the bed. 

“Who is it?” 

“I don’t have a crush, Rebeka. All the boys- They’re not- None of them are beautiful, and none of them ever speak more than a few words to me.” 

“That’s no excuse! I’ll get one to talk to you, Tatja-”

“I’m not interested in the mill boys,” Tatjana said again. She struggled with finding men beautiful. The only man she’d ever loved was beyond her world anyhow. 

“What about the girls?” Rebeka asked, eyes glinting. 

“I’m not interested in any of them either,” Tatjana said, “No time to get interested.” Rebeka only shrugged.

“It happens,” She said, and spun around to collapse on the bed herself. “I wish anyone was interesting. Someone to take me away from here. But I don't want children. Another face to feed would be unbearable.” Tatjana hummed, and laid back herself. She understood, maybe better than anyone.

“Speaking of,” She said, “Would you like anything to eat? It is the morning after all.” Rebeka rolled her bottom lip between her teeth as she pondered, eyes on the ceiling. 

“How much food do we have?” Tatjana raised herself from the bed, crossed the room to their small pantry. Not much was left; she would have to ask Eduard to pick up some more food when he next returned from the city. Like most of those in the mill village, they had claim to some gardening space, but hardly used it. It was too small for substantive farming, Tatjana said. 

“There’s bread,” She told Rebeka, but that was a given. “I could trade something for butter.” Rebeka nodded. 

“Yes, and I’ll find an egg.” Tatjana flashed her a grin, for they had found purpose for the morning. 

“Wonderful,” She said, and they were off to search for their next meals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes:
> 
> 1\. i dont see lithuania as a christian. lithuania was one of the last countries in europe to become christian and in the present day has a large orthodox jewish minority. in this fic she's an orthodox jew, which presents the question of whether she's allowed to be in the church during religious services. today, a lot of rabbis say yeah, go for it, we love some casual interfaith cultural sharing, although the more conservative ones might disagree. im not sure how old this debate is, although given lithuania's character, i dont think she'd go to church unless she was 100% certain it was cool. also the religious majority in massachussetts at the time was puritans, who are a scary bunch, even when they're not being antisemitic. latvia's jewish minority is pretty insignificant, so she's a christian in this, probably either lutheran or eastern orthodox. anyway tatjana doesnt go to church and millworkers typically had the day off on sundays so they could go to church, so she takes that as a chance to sleep in.
> 
> 2\. though millworkers were paid an hourly wage, they had to denote who produced what amount of fabric they made in a day. it was a method of measuring productivity, so if you were falling behind they would know to cut your pay or fire you or whatever the fuck
> 
> 3\. the word overseer is typically associated with slavery, so it might have felt a bit jarring in this context. its mostly the same thing in this context, although it was a little more frowned upon for one to physically abuse workers. the overseer position at textile mills would eventually become middle management. 
> 
> 4\. It's mentioned that the overseer is a British Calvinist. It's up to you whether or not this is Arthur Kirkland/England. I mention his religion and nationality for a reason other than that. As revealed in this chapter, they're working at the Lowell textile mill, which was founded/owned by Francis Cabot Lowell. Lowell was born in America, though his family was British and Norman. Lowell was dead by the time this story takes place (died 1817), although as one of the pioneers of the American wing of the industrial revolution (though some historians refer to antebellum industrialization as the industrious rather than industrial revolution) i thought it would be cool to have a little piece of him still there, watching over and maintaining the overall shittiness of his mill posthumously. anyway that was probably dumb but it made me excited so yeah. 
> 
> 5\. This note sort of applies to this whole fic, but during the 19th century, it wasn't uncommon for most if not all millworkers to attend multiple power looms. One person could attend up to 30 looms at once. However, since this takes place somewhat early on in the Industrial Revolution, and because this mill was among the first of its kind, I have made it so that everyone works only one loom. There was also a pushback in the US to industrializing like Britain had, and culturally speaking, the US favored small scale production at this point. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, as I really do like writing it. Tatjana is a super fun character and im glad I chose her as the POV character. Anyway, that's enough of me for now. If you have any thoughts or want to talk about history, feel free to do so! 
> 
> check me out on tumblr: urmomsstuntdouble.tumblr.com


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lads! its been a minute but im back! life is Getting In The Way, ya know? corona is also ironically making me busier than before...anyway this isnt the place to voice my covid anxiety so i hope you enjoy this chapter! it took longer than it should've to write but im excited for you to read it!

Tatjana strolled down the path, soaking up the last of the summer sun. She didn't look forward to winter. The cold season in Lowell was frigid, putting ice in her bones and stiffening her body. Even the younger girls complained of aching joints during the winter. For now, though, the weather remained balmy, and the breeze on her cheeks felt like home. 

Sundays were a peaceful day at the mill- Most women got up early, put on their colored dresses and left for church. Tatjana was not always exempt from the pageantry, as she sometimes joined Rebeka in dressing up. Today, she wore her regular shoes. The heels were nearly worn through and the leather was soft, and they were excellent for walking about the village. It was almost such that she could feel the ground under her feet. Perhaps she should remove her shoes- And oh, that was odd. 

Chiara Vargas sat on the ground, slouching in front of a building near the edge of the village. Her eyes were closed and the curve of her back kissed the wall, with her hands on her lap in a heap. 

“Chiara?” Tatjana asked, and she jolted to her feet. Chiara panted, eyes taking a moment to settle on Tatjana. 

“Oh, you,” She said, “Way to wake me up from a good nap.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chiara said, shrugging, “I don't sleep much anyway.” She clutched both hands in front of her body, and bit her bottom lip. “Are you not practicing?” Tatjana tilted her head to the side- What did that have to do with anything? 

“I am, but-” 

“Do you know there’s a church in the village?” Tatjana blinked. How could she not?

“I do.”

“So why aren’t you there?” 

“I could ask the same of you. As for myself, I am…” She paused, and glanced about. It was best if she kept her faith a secret, lest she fall into lethal trouble- Or worse, out of work. But Chiara was also not attending church- What, then, did she think of the Christians? “I disagree with the Protestants.” Chiara gave her a knowing look, and a slight nod. 

“Me too.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes. My sister and I, we are Catholics.” Ah. So they were different after all. Different, but both with a distaste for attending church. Many of the mill girls were Protestants, and they could be judgy- Save Amelia, who was a Quaker. 

“Well, it’s a lovely day. Better to be outside than stuck in a church.” Chiara nodded. 

“I do like the sun,” She said, “It’s very sunny in my home. Like Africa, they say.” Tatjana gave a polite chuckle. She hadn’t been to Italy or Africa, and knew little of either. 

“Yes, well. Best enjoy it before winter settles in,” She said. Chiara nodded, but kept her mouth shut. They exchanged a look, and Tatjana felt as though she were falling from a horse under Chiara’s dark, steady gaze. Something in her tired eyes felt familiar, though Tatjana couldn't say what. Was she angry, or was it the lighting? Her skin was alive, or was that sweat? Chiara tilted her head a few degrees, sending hair rippling across her shoulder. 

“Why are you staring at me and not saying anything?” Chiara asked, angrily curious. Tatjana glanced away, cheeks heating. “Oh, yeah, because pretending you weren’t makes total sense.” 

“I’m sorry!” Tatjana yelped, unsure of where to look. Her eyes faltered, settling on Chiara’s skirt. She was without an apron today, and her outer petticoat, showing off the tops of her pockets. Tatjana swallowed. 

“Whatever,” Chiara said, “I mean, I don’t actually care…It’s weird okay?” 

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” Tatjana mumbled, “I think. I think your skin is very nice.” That seemed inappropriate, as Chiara’s face contorted. 

“My skin is nice? I- Okay,” She said, “Have any other weird things to say?” Tatjana shook her head, feeling as though the sun had burned her skin. 

“No. My apologies. I’m- I’m going to take a walk in the woods now.” Tatjana attempted to step past Chiara, but underestimated the length of her own legs. Chiara lurched back at the last moment, avoiding collision. She appeared in freefall, but caught her balance. In watching her flail, Tatjana became distracted and had a moment of flailing herself. Now their positions along the path were reversed, the two stared at each other a moment more. Tatjana was unsure of her expression, though she knew it mustn’t’ve been much. Chiara was in possession of a very judgemental pair of eyebrows. They conveyed more than words could, anyway. 

“G-Good day!” Tatjana stammered, and, covering her face with a hand, dashed off into the woods. A humiliated sweat pooled under her arms. Chiara's commentary on her smaller behaviors sent a prickle along her spine. She was seldom observed in such a fashion. She’d think Chiara would notice her lack of bonnet first, or how her stockings pooled near her ankles. Yet it was her wandering eyes- Was that something people often plucked from a scene? Tatjana wouldn't know. She kept her eyes down, especially when a man was in the room- Unless it was Eduard. She no longer cared if he saw her in this state of dishevelment. 

The ground felt better under her feet once she left the path. She could feel the curves and furrows of the Earth, kissing her soles like a long lost lover. Once she could no longer see the village, Tatjana sat down on a fallen tree. She bent over to unlace her shoes, grunting at the stretch. Her back rarely saw a good stretch anymore. She should rectify that before she got married. Tatjana kicked off her shoes, and pulled off her stockings. She folded and deposited them in her pocket, then gathered her shoes under one arm. The ground was rougher than she remembered- Rocks and twigs felt harder against her soles, and she shivered against cool, moist dirt. 

As she walked along, she came to the conclusion that it was all the time spent standing in place. Feet couldn't become calloused if one never used them to go anywhere, and millwork was not an occupation for an adventurer. But she was getting ahead of herself. Tatjana was no adventurer. 

Breathing became harder as she drew deeper into the woods. The air became thick, heavy, and drew moisture from her skin at a breakneck pace. Trees grew taller, the path blurrier. She continued on, because it wasn't dark yet. She had missed this, and hated that she would continue to miss it. The longer she went, the more battered her toes became, though she didn't mind. A good calloused foot was enviable- Or at least, she thought so. 

Tatjana wandered on, stepping alongside a brook. The water was loud. It skirted over the rocks and animals dipped down to take a drink. On one occasion, she knelt on a boulder and cupped her hands just below the surface. The water chilled her hands, almost painfully, as she lifted them to her mouth and drank. It was crisper and tastier than anything she’d had in a long while. Tatjana took another sip, and another, gulping down the freshwater like she’d die without it. Drops fell upon her lap, wettening her skirts, chilling her further. She didn't mind. 

Once she’d had her fill, she remained on her rock, panting with a frigid throat. She clenched her knees, closed her eyes, and breathed. Leaves shifted overhead, and warmth fell across the soles of her feet. Oh, how nice that was. Tatjana shifted, sitting back, and pulled up her skirts, exposing pale legs to the sun. She held herself up on her elbows and sunned, like a lizard. The light touch of the sun was supreme, warming her soul along with her body. Tatjana sighed. If she were not alone- Well, that depended entirely on who she was with. Nikolay had a comforting presence when he felt like it, and Patricya was fond of soft things, though she struggled with being soft herself…But they were worlds away. Tatjana had no way of knowing if they even still thought about her. 

Perhaps she could lay her head on another shoulder, or wait until nightfall she and Rebeka could climb into bed. Tatjana laid back, hugging her waist, and wished her arms were someone else’s. 

The sun was obscured by a cloud. She sighed at the loss of warmth, and turned to her side, facing the creek. Tatjana allowed the rushing water to hypnotize her- How gray it was, how its curves maintained the same shape with every gallon that passed. She reached out with one hand, pressed a finger to the rock, and watched the water mold to her presence. Shortly, her fingertip became numb, but she didn't move it until her shoulder ached.

A drip of water landed on her ankle. Tatjana yelped, and jolted into a sitting position. While she watched the stream, the sky had turned gray. Another drip landed on the top of her head. She turned her face to the clouds. Another droplet struck her, and another and another, until her face was soaked. Black spots sprung into her vision as she stood up and turned back in the direction she’d come. 

The woods looked different in the rain. Grayer, but they also reminded her of home, as did the way the ground squashed underfoot. Mud seeped between her toes, and she felt a certain giddiness about it. As she walked, she undid her hair, letting it drift free around her body. By the time she emerged from the woods, 

rain plastered her hair and clothes to her body. She was soaked to the core and her cheeks ached from grinning. 

Beyond the cover of the trees, the raindrops struck her body harder, like rocks. She accepted them with open arms. Water dribbled down her cheeks and into her mouth, stung against her eyes, and made breathing harder. The whole village was gray, and she could hear women shrieking in the distance as they rushed indoors. Instead, she giggled, and pranced along the path. Tatjana would return home, but not yet. The weather was too gorgeous. 

“Go inside!” A child’s voice cried out, catching her attention. A young girl stood in the doorway of a nearby house, one hand on the frame. She seemed a bit wet herself, like someone had just pulled her indoors. Tatjana gave the girl a small wave. The girl returned it, only for a woman to appear behind her. The girl’s mother spoke a few words, then took her hand and tugged her into the darkness of their home, and closed the door. Tatjana’s heart ached at the sight, and she continued on home. 

She arrived home to an unlocked door. Rebeka was inside, sitting on the floor with two other girls. Heads turned towards her when she opened the door. 

“Oh, hell, Tatja-” Rebeka said, scrambling to her feet. “You’re all wet, don’t track it inside-” 

“Good afternoon,” Tatjana said. Rebeka yanked her shoes away from her, then her hair ribbon, which was crumpled in her hand. 

“Hello,” Said one of the other girls. She looked a bit young to be spending her leisure time with Rebeka. Tatjana gave her a wave anyhow, as Rebeka removed her drenched clothing. She jumped at the brush of knuckles against her waist as Rebeka removed her outer skirts, keeping her eyes up. She refused to return the stares of Rebeka’s friends. 

Finally, Rebeka had dressed her down to her stays and corset, and bustled across the room with an armful of soaked petticoats. Tatjana’s lips turned up at the sight, though she drew her arms across her body, hiding herself from view. Rebeka hung her petticoats above the unlit fireplace and returned to the others. Rather than sit on the floor, she plunked her body on their bed. 

“Sit,” She instructed, pointing at the floor between her legs. 

“What?” Tatjana asked. 

“Sit, so I can braid your hair.” Tatjana nodded, took a step into the room, then paused. Her hair still dripped like the clouds themselves. She drew her hair back, and wrung it out before joining the circle. 

“Oh, you had your shoes off too?” Rebeka grumbled, “Gross. You’re cleaning the floor later.” 

“Alright,” Tatjana said. She had no qualms with it. Rebeka tapped her shoulder with one leg, then got down to the business of hair braiding. 

“That’s Harriet,” She said, “And Jane.” They waved in turn. 

“I’m Tatjana,” Tatjana said, and stuck out her hand. Harriet and Jane shook it in turn. “So…How do you know Rebeka?” 

“Work,” Said Harriet. “And we study together when we can.”

“Are you interested in learning about money?” Jane asked, “We’re trying to read about the economy.” Tatjana gave a polite laugh, but shook her head. 

“Hold still,” Rebeka grumbled, and swatted her ear. 

“Ow!” Tatjana said, looking up. 

“Stop it, I’ll lose my place!” Rebeka grumbled, and Tatjana couldn't argue with that, so she returned her head to a neutral position. 

“Jane, I would love to learn about money-” She winced at a harsh tug on her hair. “In fact, I might be of some assistance. In my country, my cousin was a banker- Though I don’t know much of banking myself-”

“We’re reading about economics, not banking,” Rebeka said, “Bet you’ve never been to a bank.” 

“There’s one in Klaipeda,” Tatjana mumbled, though Rebeka was more or less correct. The only bank she'd ever been to was the one in Klaipeda- But that was the day before she left home. 

“That’s a made up city,” Rebeka said, an air of certainty in her voice. Tatjana couldn't see her face, but knew her expression already. If Rebeka wasn't braiding her hair, she might’ve glanced up, caught her eye. They’d have a laugh, then look away before a final laugh, then back to work. But she was braiding, so Tatjana stayed still. 

“It’s not,” she mumbled, and Rebeka left it at that. Jane and Harriet gave some obligatory laughs. 

“Why do you want to know about economics?” Tatjana asked, hugging her knees. She was still wet, so it didn’t bring any warmth. 

“Remember a few years ago- what was her name- Julia?” Tatjana nodded, recognizing the name. 

“Julia Wilson,” Jane said, “She helped with the turn-out. We're trying to start another one.” Tatjana nodded, though her blood chilled. The last turn out was two or three years ago, and hundreds of women lost their jobs. If Rebeka got involved in starting another, their livelihoods would be gone in a blink. She knew why Rebeka was involved of course- The girls had all taken a pay cut not too long ago. But if she got fired, Tatjana might not survive. 

“You- you three are putting that together?” Tatjana asked.

“Not if anyone asks,” Rebeka said. Tatjana nodded again, and Rebeka swatted her shoulder again. “This braid is going to be ugly and it’s going to be your fault.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tatjana said, setting her body rigid. The conversation continued around her, though she failed to listen. Her thoughts ran away from her, and towards all the ways everything could go wrong. Rebeka could lose her job, and they’d have to relocate to Boston, but Eduard wouldn’t be able to support them. He couldn't afford to, and their earnings from the mill would be gone in a fortnight. She was gripped by fear, but said nothing. When hadn't the future been grim? 

Tatjana’s hair dried in a braid. She fell into bed shortly after Harriet and Jane left, curled away from Rebeka. Rebeka was also tired, so she didn't try for conversation. Once more, Tatjana wondered where she’d live in a year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some historical notes: 
> 
> 1\. Amelia is mentioned to be a Quaker in this fic. Quakerism is a branch of Anabaptism, which started out as one of the most radical sects of Protestantism. They have a strong history in New England, although in the present day I believe there's more Quakers in Pennsylvania than in Massachussetts. Anyway their theology is on the more accepting side, and they believe in total separation of church and state. 
> 
> 2\. All the rules about clothing are kinda complex but basically Tatja and Chiara not wearing their fully tacked petticoats and aprons n stuff is like. its kind of rude? Tatjana isn't wearing her apron because she's not at work, and Chiara has other stuff going on, but it wouldn't be chill if a man came and saw them vibing without their full skirts- especially Chiara, showing off her pockets like a scoundrel (By the way, the pockets weren't what we'd consider pockets today. They were knitted bags attached to a string that a woman would tie around her waist and could access through gaps in the petticoats. Most petticoats that a poor woman would wear would be made from two rectangles sewn together, tied in both the front and back, so that a gap would form at the hip. This was so she didn't have to get a new skirt when she got pregnant, and also allowed women who weren't pregnant to acccess their pockets). But Chiara's got A Lot Going On Right Now, so we forgive her. Also in that vein, Tatjana mentions being ok with Eduard seeing her out of her full Countrywoman Attire and thats because theyre so close. Theyve been relying on each other a lot and all the Baltics are like family, but he's not her brother and he's not trying to get in her pants (or skirts) so she doesn't really care too much. They've been through a lot togehter, ya know? 
> 
> 3\. Julia Wilson and Harriet Robinson are real people! Julia Wilson organized the strikes of 1833/4, in response to a pay cut, and was fired for it. Part of the reason that strike was unsuccessful was because management found out what she was planning, and fired all the organizers before the strike date. They still had their strike but it was very rushed. Harriet Robinson was involved in organizing the strikes of 1836, and lead her little..weaving room? thingy? Yeah, she lead her wing of the mill out into town. She was also 11 years old when this happened, which is why I mentioned that she looked a bit young to be hanging out with Rebeka, who's 18 in this. Jane is an OC i threw in for flavor, and also because it was kinda difficult to find many records of what Harriet Robinson was like. She later became a prominent figure in the American feminist movement, so most of her personal writing is about this strike or feminist stuff. I didnt want to get her wrong so she'll just sort of be there for now. Oh, also, whenever they say turn out, they mean a protest/strike. 
> 
> 4\. Kalipeda is Lithuania's largest port city! At the time, of course, Lithuania was under the Russian Empire, though the Lithuanian identity was still strong, and still very closely tied to the Polish identity- Though there's more geopolitical and cultural conflict there than this endnote merits, seeing as that's completely, rather than somewhat, off topic. Anyway Klaipeda is currently in a weird situation of technically being Lithuania's ONLY port city, as they have some conflicts over who owns the coastline with Latvia and Russia, acting through the Kaliningrad Oblast. 
> 
> 5\. Not really necessary to say, but Lithuania is sort of like. The Bog tm. I want to compare it to Louisiana but that would not be an accurate comparison. But yeah its very bog-like, which is why Tatjana gets so happy about the rain. She's a bit homesick :(
> 
> I think I mentioned everything? anyway im very tired and not all here right now, but i did work hard on thsi, so thank you for reading this! please lmk what you thought, i love hearing yalls opinions! see u next time luvs x


	4. IV

The night was too rapid for comfort, but such was the way of things. Sleeping through the night was foreign to Tatjana. Her dreams were full of holes, eyes opening unbidden every now and again. Each time they did, she noted the coldness of the room. She didn't shiver- Rebeka clung too tightly to her back for that. It was a wet chill, not unlike home. She pulled her limbs into her body and tried to go back to sleep. With her arms crossed, Rebeka’s limp hand brushed against her own. Tatjana took hold of it, finding some comfort in the dry heat of her body. It was too quiet for her to fall back asleep, though she wasn't awake when the sun rose. 

In the daytime, prior to her shift, Tatjana cleaned the floor, as she’d promised. She scrubbed away the dirt, and tucked some of it away under her nails. Rebeka left mid-morning to meet with her friends, and so she was alone. Tatjana paced, thinking of all that needed done. Food, they needed food. Perhaps she should write to Eduard, or check the post. It had been a long time since their last correspondence. Everything needed cleaning. Only the garden could be free from grime. She rubbed her eyes, which sent colors whirling behind her eyelids. 

After picking up an envelope addressed to her surname, Tatjana walked to the garden, which was managed by a couple of millboys and their wives. It laid far from the mill, though not near enough to the woods for it to be in danger from animals. 

“Mornin’,” said a woman named Siubhan when she approached, “What’re ye interested in today?” 

“Morning,” Tatjana repeated, wrinkling her nose. The world felt wrong on her tongue. Maybe she wasn't trying hard enough. “What do you have the most of?” 

“Oh, a few things,” Siobahn said, “Always potatoes to go around.” 

“I’ll have some of those, then,” Tatjana said, “Do you have any clothes needing repaired, or anything that needs cleaning?” In better times, she could have purchased the potatoes without turning it into an affair. If it hadn't been for the commonality of such affairs, she might’ve felt poorly about it. 

“Not for meself, though the lady in the next house over’s talkin’ of problems with her children. If yer keen to toss out favors.” 

“Oh, um-” Tatjana said, biting her lip. That didn't sound the most appropriate. If she helped the woman with her children, would she then be owed a favor? What could she bring herself to request from another poor mill girl? 

“There’s one of ‘em now,” Siubhan said, pointing off behind Tatjana. A short, thin girl walked along, eyes glued to the ground, with a blue ribbon keeping her bonnet tied in place.

“How old is she?” Tatjana asked, speaking loud enough that the girl took notice and lifted a hand to her chest. Shame prickled through Tatjana. 

“How old are ye?” Siubhan asked the girl, who glanced around as if the question wasn't for her. When she realized it was, she faced Siubhan and straightened her back.

“I’m eight,” She said, “My name’s Rosanna.” 

“Hello, Rosanna,” Tatjana replied. 

“Hi!” Rosanna said, and waved. “How old are you?” Tatjana’s mouth fell open, though she didn't speak. She left home at eighteen, so if she was counting right, she’d be twenty two. 

“‘S a bit rude to ask a woman her age,” Siubhan said, and Rosanna nodded like her life depended on it. 

“Very sorry, miss.” Miss. Tatjana had never been called that before. 

“My name’s Tatjana,” She said, before she could stop herself, “No need to call me miss.”

“Tatjana,” Rosanna said, lifting a finger to her mouth. It was the sort of speech meant only for her ears. Or maybe she didn’t know she was speaking. “Tatjana.” Rosanna stood like a baby bird, perched on her toes, like she was about to fall over. Something inside her begged Tatjana to rush over, and hold the girl’s shoulder such that she remained standing. She remained in place, though, stuck in anticipation. 

“Aye, that’s ‘er name,” Siubhan said, a note of humor in her voice. “Are you goin' to take the potatoes or not?” 

“Oh!” Tatjana said, drawn back to her purpose for visiting the garden. “Yes, I’m sorry.” Heat wavered behind her cheeks and down the back of her neck. She turned away from Rosanna and bent down to inspect the garden. “What can I do for five potatoes?” She asked. Siubhan shrugged. 

“Call it a loan,” She said, “I’ll ask ye for a favor when I need one.” Tatjana nodded, though she hated the prospect. Loans hung over one’s head, and had consequences when you least expected it. 

“Thank you,” She said, “Whatever you need, you can ask me.” 

“That is how loans work,” Siubhan said, “Anything else you’ll be needing?” Tatjana shook her head, though they both knew she did need more. How long could two people live on five potatoes? But increasing her debt was less attractive than going hungry. 

“You’re wonderful, Siubhan,” She said, dipping her head. She bent down, and gathered up five potatoes in her apron. They bumped against her legs when she stood, hitting the bruises from her loom. 

“Don't I know it,” Siubhan said, “Enjoy the potatoes.” Tatjana nodded, and departed from the garden. She made it five paces before another child ran across her path, rushing up to Rosanna and running her over. A yelp left Tatjana’s throat at the same time it left Rosanna’s. 

“Enzo!” She shouted, “You got my dress dirty! Mama’s gonna be mad at you!” 

“Mama’s always mad,” Enzo said. His voice was higher and softer than hers. “Zia got a letter…” His voice faded away, and Tatjana only hoped their mother wouldn’t beat them. Another potato bumped against a bruise. She winced, and wondered if she should take up hunting. Her father hunted sometimes when they didn’t have enough to eat. It was dangerous, but better than starving like the Russians wanted them to. If her pay fell any lower…but that was folly. Even if she knew how to obtain a gun, people would talk, and it would be stolen before she could lay a finger on the trigger.

Tatjana spent much of the rest of the day cleaning, unable to sleep. Rebeka remained absent from their room. Though such was typical of a girl her age, Tatjana couldn't help but think she was with those other two- Harriet and Jane. Their correspondence made her heart race. What might she do if she was separated from Rebeka? Did she remember how to sleep alone? 

She didn't see Rebeka again until they entered the mill for work. Acting on her impulses, Tatjana pulled her into a hug. 

“Ah, fuck!” Rebeka yelped, shoving her away. “Warn me next time!” 

“Can I hug you?” Tatjana asked. Her shoulders sagged, and she could feel the whine in her voice. If only she didn't care. Rebeka rolled her eyes and opened her arms, which Tatjana used as a chance to pull the girl against her chest. Despite her complaints, Rebeka leaned into the embrace, filling Tatjana with relief. Her fingers sifted through the hair falling from the back of Rebeka’s bonnet. It was soft, and should’ve been tucked away- Tatjana bit her tongue, unsure if Put your hair up would be welcome. 

“You good?” Rebeka asked. Tatjana bit her lip, eyes sliding across the room. Every harsh noise stood out, magnified a hundred times. Every word of accented English stung, and even her own breathing felt too loud. 

“Yes,” Tatjana said, “I hadn't seen you all day is all.”

“Aww, you missed me,” Rebeka teased, and Tatjana gave her shoulder a gentle flick. 

“Perhaps,” She said, a smile making its way to her face. It was short lived, however, when she caught the glare of an overseer. The time had come to work, so she split away from Rebeka and made her way to her loom. With shaking hands, she scratched her initials into the cotton and got to work. Her back ached and so did her hips, and her clothes scratched at her skin. Her heart hung in her throat, and what would happen if Rebeka got fired? Images of Rebeka suffering in Boston percolated her mind. Worry grew with the shadow of her body over the loom.

Was this all America had to offer? The hope it gave her had to be more than a broken promise. Tatjana wobbled, every noise thunderous. Where the sounds of the looms usually blurred together into a homogeneous din, everything stood out. Every scrape of a heel against the floor, every cough and sneeze, every switch of a pedal was an ice pick in her temple. 

Tatjana tried to hold her breath, contain herself. She gave herself instructions- Pull the lever. Stamp the pedal. Slide the shuttle along. Think of how millwork is your lifeline, and how bruised your hips are, and how every eye in the room is hollow. Tatjana held her breath, and forced her hands to move. Millwork was neither difficult nor strenuous, and she trembled all the same. The monotony strained her body all the same, and she wondered if she could stand twelve hours of this. Regardless, work continued. 

Some hours into her shift, Tatjana glanced up, stuffing more air into her overfilled lungs. It was fine, save the burning in her chest. She caught sight of Rebeka, across the room. Her head was down, as usual, and she tended to two looms. Beside her, at a third, was Chiara Vargas. Tatjana blinked, and as though by a superhuman force, Chiara glanced up at her. Their eyes met. Tatjana’s hands stumbled across her loom, and she felt the error arise in her weaving, but she couldn't look away. 

Bags fell under her eyes, and though Tatjana wasn’t sure her age, Chiara looked beyond her years. Some hair escaped her bonnet, though Tatjana wasn't sure she’d tried very hard to conceal it. 

Chiara’s eyes slid shut, and her lips opened. Tatjana dipped her head, and Chiara seemed to follow suit. Her chin fell, head touching her chest- And her body fell with it. Tatjana shrieked, but her hands stayed busy on the loom. Chiara’s head plonked against the frame, and she seemed to flatten against the fabric for a second before rolling off to the side. A few murmurs rose up, but not so many that an overseer would notice. Days without someone collapsing were rare. In all likelihood, Chiara would not be punished. 

Rebeka noticed after a moment, staring down at the floor- Then ducked down herself. A moment passed, during which Tatjana itched to abandon her machine and rush around to meet them. She stayed put, muscles trapped in the rut of weaving. Her lungs ached, refusing to breathe properly. She kept her eyes on Chiara’s loom. 

Rebeka rose, and glanced about, before her eyes met Tatjana’s. Could you help me? She seemed to ask without speaking. Tatjana was by Rebeka’s side in an instant. 

“Oh,” Tatjana gasped upon seeing Chiara, collapsed on the floor. An angry welt formed on her forehead, and an oil stain had soiled her petticoat. “Oh, dear.” 

“Can you help me pick her up?” Rebeka asked, “I don't know...I don't know what to do about her head- Oh, shit, don’t look behind you, but the overseer’s looking at us.” 

“Yes, Rebeka,” Tatjana sighed. The back of her neck prickled under the overseer's gaze. She bent down, but stopped before touching Chiara. Would it be so strange if she looked at the wound? She thought the answer was yes, but she couldn't stop herself. A hand reached out, brushed a whorl of hair away. Fortunately, there was no break in her skin. Nothing more than a welt. A sigh left Tatjana’s throat. 

“Are you gonna get her up, or…?” Rebeka asked, kicking Tatjana into motion. She scrambled, shifting back, and looped her arms with Chiara’s. Standing was a challenge, given the weight of another woman, but it seemed to wake Chiara. 

“The fuck are you doing?” She asked, voice weak, “My head hurts.” Though she still leaned against Tatjana for support, she managed to straighten herself. 

“You passed out,” Rebeka said, “Tatjana came over to help you up. And to play with your hair.” 

“I didn't- !” Tatjana said, heat rushing to her cheeks, “I would never, at least not while you were not awake! Rebeka!” 

“Oh-kay,” Chiara sighed, rubbing her forehead. She stepped away from Tatjana, “I feel like I’m bleeding.” 

“You’re not,” Tatjana said. Chiaira glanced at her, a hint of accusation in her eyes. Like Tatjana had wronged her, but at the same time, her face was blank. 

“That’s good,” She said, her voice uneven, “Nice of you to…” Her eyes fell, skirting about the floor for something unknown. Warmth pooled in Tatjana’s chest. She nodded, feeling accomplished. 

“It was no trouble,” She told Chiara. Chiara’s head tilted to the side, exposing her neck, and she hummed. 

“I should thank you,” Chiara murmured, “But we should get back to work.” She remained still, the room whirring around her. It didn't sound like she wanted to get back to work, but Tatjana agreed. 

“We should,” Tatjana said, “Before an overseer notices.” Chiara nodded, a forlorn gaze still on her face, and she began to move, facing her loom once again. Once she turned back to her loom, Tatjana walked away. 

Work continued.

Later in the night, Tatjana spotted an overseer talking to Chiara. When she tried to stand her full height and look him in the eye, he forced her to continue weaving. No respite. Tatjana put her head down after that, and waited for a daydream to carry her through the morning. No such luck. Every sound remained harsh, grating. Noise strangled her thoughts before they finished forming. 

It was a shame the high of sunrise came only once a day. If Tatjana could sell that high, she’d never work again. But that would never happen- It wasn't her place in the world. She was here for money and to find a husband. Forgetting that was dangerous. 

Tatjana neglected to sweep that morning. Her back protested too much, and it slipped her mind. She left with Rebeka, feeling a little lighter than usual when she stepped out of the mill. Tatjana breathed deeply as they walked. 

“The air feels nice today,” She sighed. Would it do her any harm to let her eyes slip shut for a second? 

“It feels like this every morning,” Rebeka said.

“Mm, no it doesn't,” Tatjana said. She stretched her arms up over her head, arching her back. “It feels cleaner.” 

“Sure,” Rebeka said, and inhaled dramatically. Her breath sounded like the wind when it tore across a village in the middle of the night. After holding the air inside for a second, she turned towards Tatjana and released it all into her face. 

“Beka!” Tatjana gasped, and shoved her. Though Rebeka hadn't had much to eat lately, her breath smelt of death. 

“What? It’s the fresh air!” Rebeka giggled, and grabbed one of Tatjana’s hands, “I thought you liked the air today!” 

“Not when it’s coming from you!” Tatjana laughed back, and pulled her hand away. She stumbled back, her heel sliding in the mud. 

“I’m only trying to share it,” Rebeka said, giving chase. Tatjana giggled, and dodged. Rebeka stumbled and fell, skidding across the ground. She stilled unnaturally when she collided with the legs of another girl, who tumbled down upon the impact. 

“Oh, Beka,” Tatjana muttered to herself, following after. Her clothes would be all muddy now- “Who’s that you’ve run into?” She spoke under her breath, as she did not recognize the other child. The girl looked younger than Rebeka, though she was just as thin. 

“Sorry,” Rebeka said, as she disentangled herself. “Sorry,” she repeated, “But who are you?” Tatjana bit her lip- How could Rebeka just ask a question such as that? 

“My name is Raffa!” Chirped the girl, and she grinned. One tooth was chipped, and her lips were chapped. “Have you seen my mama?” Raffa- Neither a name nor a face that Tatjana recognized- And she knew each child of the village. Everyone did- There were only a few hundred or so adults, and even fewer children. Tatjana knelt down beside the girl, careful to avoid getting her petticoats dirty. 

“What’s your mama’s name, Raffa?” She asked, placing a hand on Rebeka’s arm. Raffa tilted her head and shrugged. 

“Mama.” 

“No, she has a name other than Mama,” Rebeka said, “It’s probably, like, Caroline or something-”

“Caroline doesn't have any daughters,” Tatjana reminded her.

“She could,” Rebeka said, “Just because you’ve never seen them running around doesn't mean they don't exist.”

“Very well, but when would she’ve had this one?” Caroline spent the nights working, not something conducive to having very young children. Though children did live in the village, it was a terribly hard place for one to be a parent. 

“I mean, there’s plenty of men working here too. You never know-” 

“Mama!” Raffa shrieked, and ran off towards the mill. Tatjana and Rebeka faced each other, eyes wide, and the pair scrambled to their feet. But the girl was fine- She ran into the open arms of a woman, who picked her up, and held her on one hip. She said some things to her child, then kissed her on the cheek. Tatjana didn't overhear a single word. Her nose wrinkled at the sight- Chiara, stroking the girl’s hair, smiling at her and kissing her cheeks. Where did the little thing even come from? 

“Tatja,” Rabeka mumbled, “You’re hurting me.” Tatjana glanced down, meeting Rebeka’s eyes. As they made eye contact, Rebeka glanced down at her arm, then back up at Tatjana. Ah, yes- Tatjana squeezed Rebeka’s bicep, knuckles white. 

“Sorry,” She whispered, dropping her hand. 

“Are you okay?” Rebeka asked, “You’ve got a look in your eye.

“I’ll be fine,” Tatjana said with a breath, “Let’s go home, shall we? I’m exhausted.” 

“Okay,” Rebeka said, though she didn't sound convinced. “Promise you’re okay?” Tatjana nodded. 

“I promise.” Tatjana didn't look over her shoulder as they continued back to their room, though she wanted to. Chiara’s motherhood was none of her business, and yet she couldn’t help but wonder. How could she manage to work and have a child that young? Where was her husband- Did he work at the mill as well? Tatjana wondered how she might fare with a baby. There would be no respite, she thought. She’d spend her nights bent over her loom, and her days bent over a child. She glanced down at her stomach with contempt. 

It was her purpose to have children, though all she wanted in her stomach was food and drink.

Rebeka fell asleep nearly as soon as they got home. She dressed down to her shift and tossed herself into bed, and not five seconds passed before the sound of sleep-breathing filled the room. Tatjana sat at the foot of the bed, drawing breath. After a moment’s thought, Tatjana removed her corset. She ran her hands along her waist, wondering.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the envelope she’d picked up earlier. It sat on their storage crate, located next to the door. Tatjana pushed herself up with her hands, and cracked open the envelope. 

Eduard would visit in November.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! here are this chapter's historical footnotes
> 
> 1\. most mill villages were somewhat self sufficient, and communal gardens were common. in the later 19th century, small economies would emerge within the mill villages when industrialisation became Cool Beans in the u s of a. Also, important to mention, in many mill villages there were little shack/cottage type houses, but at larger mills, you might see employees living in boarding houses. Tatjana and Rebeka live in a boarding house and Chiara and Felicia live in a little shack/cottage type house. 
> 
> 2\. I may have mentioned this in a previous footnote, but it was common for women to have to tend more than one loom at once. With technological advancements, it became easier for someone to use multiple looms, though in big mills like Lowell, it would actually be more commonplace for the characters to have upwards of ten looms each. I think at some point workers were required to manage thirty looms at once, though 30 looms each is a bit beyond the scope of this story. all that is to say that it's very much not a big deal that rebeka manages two looms at once during this chapter. 
> 
> 3\. Chiara faints in this chapter. this was also a common occurrence, as the rooms that the women worked in were very loud and stank of oil. malnutrition and exhaustion were the norm, and one side effect of that was that, most likely every day, someone would pass out on the job. they'd have to get right back up or risk a pay cut. so chiara's not really fine, but you know. she's already taken a pay cut so far in this story and it would not do her well to take another. 
> 
> 4\. A lot of people in the mill villages were young and had been working there since their teenage years, and thus did not have many children. However, when they did have children, it was sort of like every other adult in the village had their parental instincts activated. very much 'it takes a village to raise a child' type of situation. so even if she doesn't know the names of all the kids, tatjana knows that they exist and how many there are, and most likely who they belong to. 
> 
> 5\. Just because it's vaguely relevant, the baltics are not siblings in this fic!! their relationship here is actually based on their linguistic histories- Lithuanian is a super ancient language, and the closest thing to a proto-language that still has native speakers. it is within the same language family as Latvian, which is also very old. Estonian is in a completely different language family, though the country has close ties to the other two Baltic nations as a result of their shared histories and geographic conditions. In real life politics and trade and stuff, Lithuania and Latvia are far closer with each other than they are with Estonia (who actually does have some basis for being in the Nordics, as Estonian has greater linguistic similarities with Finnish than the other two Baltics), and are also much more similar to each other in terms of geography and climate and whatnot than they are to Estonia. However, they are not the same country so Tatjana and Rebeka are not blood related.
> 
> alright, think that's all for now! until next time dears <3 
> 
> tumblr urmomsstuntdouble.tumblr.com


	5. V

Tatjana stood at the window, scrubbing the pane clean. She didn't know when last it was cleaned, or if it was dirty enough to merit cleaning, yet there she was. With how she was cleaning, one might think Eduard was her husband. At that thought, she wrinkled her nose and stepped away from the window. You could always say he’s your brother, she thought, though it was ridiculous. He was almost a Russian, for he was the best educated of her friends. None would believe them siblings. 

She continued cleaning, scrubbing every surface in their small room. Rebeka sat on the floor, engrossed in an attempt to read something. Tatjana hadn’t known Rebeka could read, though it would be quite a shame if she were not able to. By the time Eduard arrived two days later, the room looked as clean as it had the day they moved in. He didn't know that, though. Soon as the door opened, he swept Tatjana up into his arms before the word hello could leave her lips. 

“Eduard!” She shrieked, and laughter bubbled in both their throats. "Hello, Tatjana!" He grinned, and his grip on her began to slip. "And Rebeka!" He dropped her without warning, such that her heels smarted when she landed. Eduard rushed across the room and tugged Rebeka into an embrace. Tatjana smiled, cheeks warmed at the sight. 

“How have you been in Boston, Eduard?” Tatjana asked, closing the door behind him, “And take your shoes off.” 

“Right, yes,” He said, and bent down to unlace his boots. “I’ve been living with some other young men- Living, I say- We spend most of our time working, so I don’t know them well. I’ve got a place to sleep, though, that was my point.” 

“What do you do?” Rebeka asked, sitting attentive. 

“Oh, this and that,” Eduard said, “I've been apprenticed by an old cobbler.”

“And the pay?” 

“A bit poor,” Said Eduard, “How do you fare?” 

“We’ve been-” Tatjana started. 

“Terrible,” Rebeka cut her off, “Every day, we stand for twelve hours, watching the machines go. I wish I’d never have to see a loom again.” Tatjana agreed, though she did not verbalize it. She did not want Eduard to worry about them. 

“Oh, that’s-” 

“Tiresome, boring,” Rebeka said. 

“I’m sure it is,” Eduard agreed, “Though I must say, I envy you- I don’t enjoy this business of making things.”

“That’s a shame,” Tatjana said, “If I could make anything, I’d rejoice.” Well. If she could make good and gentle things. Her hands twitched, and she could not will them to stop, so she shoved them into her pockets. 

“I'm sure you would, Tatjana,” He said, and clapped her on the shoulder. Before she could ask what he meant, he turned away and dumped his jacket into Rebeka’s arms. 

“Alright!” Eduard said, “Might you show me this little village of yours?” 

“Y-Yes,” Tatjana said, “Though Rebeka and I must leave you at sundown.” 

“Of course,” Eduard said, “Lead the way.” Tatjana did as he said. Eduard took her arm as they left her room. She felt the warmth of his arm through their sleeves, and in other times, it may have been comforting. Now she prayed that none would see them. What if people talked? Once again, she thought of Chiara and that child on her hip. A sting ran down her spine, and she gritted her teeth. 

They strolled the grounds of the mill. Tatjana greeted people here and there. Rebeka did much of the talking for her, until they encountered Jane and Harriet. The three girls were off after that, leaving Tatjana alone with Eduard, the workers' children, and the mud. Their walk did not last much longer, on account of the village being very small. 

They spent the next hours talking in Tatjana’s room, while she fixed a tear in Eduard’s jacket. She didn't finish by the time she left for the mill. While she worked, coughs racked her chest. Her throat ached along with the rest of her body. She glanced about, watching bobbin-girls flitting about, and boys carrying string and raw cotton. Rebeka tended to two looms. Siobahn seemed more focused on conversing with the woman next to her than work. Across the way, Chiara bent over a loom. Bags hung low under her eyes, and her bruise had ripened since the last morning. As Tatjana watched, she took a pause and brought her flask to her lips. Unbecoming. What sort of example would that set for her daughter? At the same time, her heart skipped a beat with something like admiration. It took courage to repeat an act which had caused a dock in her pay. 

Work continued. Tatjana’s lips were dry, and when she coughed, she wondered if her throat was bleeding. But she wouldn’t risk bringing a drink into the factory. 

Her body continued to ache, even when morning came. 

As she swept the floor, She bumped into Amelia and Chiara. They stood between the aisles of looms, locked in conversation. “Excuse me,” Tatjana said, “Might I pass through?” 

“Oh, Tati!” Amelia said, grinning with stars in her eyes. “How are you?” 

“I- I am well,” She said, “Yourself?” 

“Could be better, to tell you the truth,” Amelia said, casting her eyes aside. “I’m tired lately- But who isn't. Anyway, Tati, I was wondering- Are you working with your sister on that little thing she’s planning?” 

“What thing? Oh!” Tatjana raised a hand to her chest. “That. No, we are neither collaborators nor sisters, I’m afraid. And…my name is Tatjana.” 

“Ah well. Hey, since she's not busy, she might be able to help you out, Chiara!" 

“Are you in need of something?” Tatjana asked, though she knew the answer. 

“Yes,” Chiara said, “Um.” She glanced back at Amelia, then set her eyes on Tatjana. “My mother has passed. My sister has decided that she must return to our country- Foolish girl- to deal with her funeral.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tatjana said, bowing her head. Her mind wandered back to her own father. 

“It’s fine,” Chiara said, “Never liked that woman. Anyway, Felicia’s left me here alone, and I can't-” She bit her lip, growling in frustration. “Do you have children, Tatjana?”

“N-No,” Tatjana said, gripping the handle of the broom. She glanced about, catching sight of an overseer. He was not looking in her direction, and for that she was thankful. 

"Chiara's got three!" Amelia supplied, which earned her a dark look. She didn't seem to notice. 

“Yes, Amelia, I do," She said with gritted teeth. "This sort of work doesn't take kindly to mothers.” 

“What about your husband?” Tatjana asked. Chiara’s eyes wandered away. Her hands, which had been kneading the edge of her apron, stilled. 

“I am widowed,” She said after a moment. “Anyway. My eldest could…” She trailed off, eyes fixed on the floor. Tatjana’s skin felt tight and it took her an extra moment to realize Chiara had stopped speaking. An offer to help rested on the tip of her tongue, though Chiara was right. This sort of work did not take kindly to mothers. Or anyone. Yet- 

“A friend of mine is passing through. He could watch your children while he is here,” Tatjana said, though Eduard disdained children. Said he didn't understand them. 

“Tati! You never said anything about a boyfriend!” Amelia said, eyes shining. “You have to tell me everything about him later!” 

“No,” Tatjana said, stern. “He's a mere friend. We came here on the same boat.” 

“Oh, dandy,” Amelia said. Chiara didn't share her enthusiasm. 

“I’m not letting a stranger around my babies.” Fair enough. Tatjana would do the same. 

“Of course,” Tatjana said, and glanced back at the overseer. His arms were crossed, and he seemed without a purpose. Tatjana turned back to the others. “I think I should leave now. It’s rude of me to leave him waiting…And I don’t want to get in any trouble for staying.”

“I’ll go with you.” Chiara spoke quickly. “I need to stay out of trouble too.”

“See you guys later then?” Amelia said, a hopeful look on her face. 

“Yes, Amelia,” Chiara sighed, “Doubt I could avoid you if I tried.” 

“You couldn't,” Tatjana muttered, and Amelia chuckled. 

“Thanks! I do try, you know, to make sure you guys aren’t lonely!” Tatjana raised an eyebrow, humor bubbling in her chest.

“You succeed.” Hints of a smile passed across Chiara’s cheeks. How lovely.

“Anyway, we must be going now. Chiara?” 

“Right,” Chiara said, and clasped Amelia's shoulder. “Until later.” She turned away, making for the exit. Tatjana followed suit, making passes at the floor with her broom as they went. Her back continued to ache. 

When they stepped out of the mill, Tatjana reached up over her head in a long stretch. Her bones shifted, and some of her joints popped. A murmur of content left her mouth, and she leaned a bit further back. 

“Smells like it’ll be a nice day today,” She remarked, hands on her hips. 

“You can't know that just from the smell of the air,” Chiara said, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I can,” Tatjana sighed, “The smell of rain is absent, so it must be a good day.” Chiara only looked at her with a raised eyebrow. It was the sort of look that made Tatjana want to straighten her back and stand at attention. She did, and brushed some hair away from her face while she was at it. 

“Whatever. I need to get home- My kids, y'know?” 

“Farewell,” Tatjana said, offering a small smile. Chiara waved, and was on her way, off towards the trees. Tatjana watched her walk for a moment before leaving, though she kept her eyes on the woman. A cloud of despair hung about her as she trudged. Her shoulders sagged, and the curve of her back caused her to look much smaller than she was. Tatjana kneaded her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering. She wasn't keen to toss out favors, no, but…

Chiara paused. She tore her hair from its bun, shook it out, and re-piled it all onto her head. You could do that quite a bit gentler, Tatjana thought. Or use another set of hands…Tatjana took a step towards the woods. Rebeka would be home by now- Perhaps she could play hostess for Eduard. A girl had to learn somehow. He was just one man, after all, and a dear friend to both of them…

Tatjana took another step towards the woods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you thought!
> 
> here is a historical footnote for this chapter:
> 
> Tatjana mentions that Eduard is almost Russian. All the Baltics were born in the Russian empire in this fic, which means they were under a lot of pressure to assimilate into Russian culture/language/etc. Of the Baltics, Eduard is the most likely to have recieved a formal education, and I don't see him as being very good at manual labor. Because of this, he speaks the best Russian out of the three. Additionally, Estonian has more relations as a language to Russian than Lithuanian and Latvian, so I think he might sound like he's Russian a bit more than the other two.
> 
> this fic now has a spotify playlist to go with it! you can find that [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/253rrFllxI8mTG6zGrg8aq)
> 
> there is also now art for this fic! [X](https://witchysheep.tumblr.com/post/643479929951043584/a-commission-for-urmomsstuntdouble-of-their)
> 
> and here is my [tumblr](https://urmomsstuntdouble.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to check me out over there! 
> 
> thank you so much for reading, i hope you have a wonderful day!


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